


Presents

by Neverever



Category: 1872 (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: 1872 (Marvel), Christmas Presents, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverever/pseuds/Neverever
Summary: For their first Christmas together, Sheriff Rogers doesn't know what to get his partner, Mr. Stark.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 162
Collections: 2019 Captain America/Iron Man Holiday Exchange





	Presents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BladeoftheNebula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BladeoftheNebula/gifts).



> For BladeoftheNebula. I loved your prompts and really hope that this fic meets what you were hoping for.

No one cared much at all when the Sheriff moved in with Stark after all that late unpleasantness with the Mayor and his thugs. Made excellent sense when one thought about it. Stark had always been an excellent friend to Rogers and he had all that room upstairs from the smithy. Timely was safer with the sheriff set up across the street from the jail and Deputy Wilson settled in the old sheriff quarters. Besides, Stark appeared to be sober more often than not these days with Rogers around, and no one was going to complain about that.

Certainly not Steve.

Stark’s apartment above the smithy felt downright spacious, a mansion, in fact, compared to the cramped jailhouse room he’d lived in. Tony teased him about getting lost in the five rooms until Steve kissed the jokes away.

Flashes of the East Coast New York City man in Tony came out more often these days. Now, Tony was handy in a posse or a barn raising, no fleas on him. But he had ordered upholstered arm chairs all the way from San Francisco by the way of Virginia City, instead of something more practical and local and wooden. Steve, plain as day and salt of the earth through and through, saw no point to the extravagance.

The boys from the railroad unboxed the chairs for Tony. Tony checked the chairs thoroughly. “I wished I could have seen these in San Francisco,” he sighed.

Steve studied the chairs too, doubtful about the hardiness of the heavy brocade fabric in Timely’s dust. He did a double take at Tony’s declaration. “You don’t like the chairs? That’s an expensive mistake.”

“No, the chairs are exactly what I wanted. I just would like to go to San Francisco some day.”

But Steve had no complaints when he sat down in the heavenly comfortable chair set to side of the fireplace. His books and magazines were right at hand on the little side table Tony had also ordered. He looked up over the edge of his book at Tony writing away on his lap desk. Tony glanced up and smiled back at Steve. 

Steve had gotten far too used to this in too short a time.

He knew about the hours Tony had sat by his bed as he recovered slowly from the bullets that nearly killed him. The desperately needed warmth of Tony’s hand in his as he flickered between life and death, until firmly settling on the life side of things.

He drank Tony’s awful sludge he called coffee in the mornings when they woke up. He brought food to Tony at lunchtime because Tony would skip food for work any given time. They’d eat side by side on the bench outside, talking about this and that and saying hello to the townspeople as they passed. Dinner was an equally quiet affair -- sometimes they had a meal at the saloon or ate whatever Tony or Steve burned on the kitchen stove.

Steve had never expected much out of life. He had not been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. The Civil War had been an escape out of the slums of New York, and he had never wanted to go back. 

If he had, he wouldn’t be sitting in a fashionable chair beside a fire, warmth in his bones and a book at hand, watching his genius partner working on his next invention.

“Doc Banner says they put up a tree at the veteran’s hall for Christmas,” Tony said. “Big party -- good food, songs, gifts, Christmas cheer. Fundraiser to build that new school Mrs. Parker wants.”

Steve snorted. “Knowing the weather ‘round here, we’ll have a blizzard that day.”

“You should go, as the sheriff and a veteran,” Tony replied. He hadn’t looked up from his work. “That’s what the townspeople expect. If you go, I should go too -- be too obvious if I didn’t.”

Tony hadn’t stepped foot in that veteran’s hall since he arrived in Timely. The party must mean a lot to him if he’d been willing to break a principle. “If you want to go, we can go.” Steve lifted his book again. “We’ll need presents.”

“Ah -- it’s next week, nothing to bother with.”

“Not a planner?” Steve asked with a smile.

“Hmpph.” He lost Tony to his mechanical drawings for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Now the problem that Steve had was that he had gifts for his friends, but nothing for Tony. A new Dickens book for Sam, a box of ribbon for Missus Van Dyne, a bottle of wine for Pym, a box of bullets for the new Postmistress Miss Danvers who was a surprisingly good shot, wool socks for Doc Banner. He didn’t have even a single clue rattling around in his brain about what to get Tony.

He washed his hands in the washbasin with the big blue flowers Tony had set up in their room. Domesticity suited Tony well. The room had been outfitted with new curtains, a new bedspread, blankets and sheets with no holes, and a rug from one of Tony’s fancy stores in San Francisco. Steve could see himself perfectly for a shave in the newly resilvered mirror.

Last year, he’d shot a goose for Tony’s gift. They’d eaten it together for Christmas dinner with a few of their friends. If it hadn’t been for Jan, that’s all they would have eaten -- she’d brought vegetables, potatoes and bread. A small, quiet house party in a town full of fear -- they ate and laughed a little and then scurried away to hide. 

This year?

He lived in a home with Tony, who cared. He’d cared so much that it drove him to drink all those years ago, and now he could funnel a lot of that care into a man who had lived as recklessly as the same way that Tony had drank. That was one of Tony’s gifts to him -- that slight bit of worry that maybe he’d be killed going after a wanted man, that he’d leave Tony all alone if he died. Maybe it was a worthwhile price to pay for bookshelves in the library Tony was fixing up in the second bedroom.

He couldn’t promise to stay out of danger forever as a Christmas present to Tony. Fisk’s boys were still around, and there was always the chance of claim jumpers and new criminals arriving on the train. He’d had to help Barton and his family out of a spot of danger last week.

He had nothing for Tony. Not yet. If he’d wanted something unique and special, he would have had to order from Cage’s Mercantile a couple of months ago. Missus Cage would have suggested a fancy chain for Tony’s pocket watch. Jan would have been overjoyed to order wool suit fabric for a new suit for Tony.

During a slow spot during the day, Steve moseyed over to the Mercantile and poked through the half-bare shelves. He had nothing. Tony would roll his eyes at Steve if Steve dared to bring that aftershave into the apartment. 

Mrs. Cage rang up the few purchases Steve had. “You’ve got a couple of days still, Sheriff,” she said encouragingly.

Jan kidnapped him as soon as he stepped out of the door and dragged him over to her millinery behind the hardware store. Like a lumbering giant in a dollhouse, Steve perched on one of her small dainty chairs surrounded by hats, ribbons, fabrics and all sorts of frilly stuff. He held out a delicate cup for Jan to pour coffee into.

“I got this for you -- Hank thought you’d be by for it any day now,” Jan said. She handed over a hammer to Steve and a couple of wool socks that could be used as Christmas stockings. “Tony’s been wanting to pick this up for ages. And the socks are an early present from me.”

Steve vaguely recalled Tony picking up and then putting back this hammer at the last time he’d gone to the hardware store with him. Something that Tony clearly wanted, but he never seemed to have the right moment to buy. Steve was filled with immediate gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Hank wanted to close early for the holiday.” She tapped a crate full of things with her foot. “I pulled gifts people needed in case they couldn’t get to the store in time. I’m glad I caught you.”

Steve needed another gift for Tony. “Do I pay you or Hank?” he said. He had money back in his desk at the jail.

“Pay me later. Oh, that reminds me, did you ever spend that Wells Fargo reward money for the would-be bank robber?”

Steve straightened up. He’d nearly forgotten the nice little nest egg waiting in the bank for him. Wells Fargo had sent him the money just before the mess with Fisk and Steve had stowed it away. 

Jan chatted away. “Hank and I are going to Virginia City for the New Year. We’re going to stay at a nice hotel, and get a good dinner. I’ve nearly finished the dresses I plan to wear --”

“Thank you again, Jan. I need to get to the Post Office before Miss Danvers closes for the day.”

Neat as a pin, and ruling the Post Office with an efficient hand, Miss Danvers was waiting on a customer when Steve arrived. She was one of the new faces in town, just arrived two months ago from back East. She handled all the business the bank didn’t and even sold train tickets when the station was closed. 

Steve nodded to her departing customer and stepped up to the window. “Miss Danvers, I would like to use your telegraph.”

“Carol, please, Sheriff. Step right this way -- you’ll need to fill out the Western Union forms.” She pointed to the neat stack on the counter.

“Fair enough.”

* * *

On Christmas Day, it was only Steve and Tony in their living room with Jan’s wool stockings hung up on the bare fireplace mantle. The town party at the veteran’s hall had been enjoyable and the townspeople had raised enough money for the schoolhouse. Tony and Steve had stumbled back late after midnight down a street filled with lights from all the town buildings and people laughing and wishing their neighbors a good holiday. Peace on earth, even in Timely.

They had slept in, Steve figuring that if someone needed him, they knew where to find him. He laid on his back, covered in blankets with Tony’s head nestled in the crook of his neck, and listened to the sleet hitting the window. He’d have to tend to the horses later and bring in another load of wood. He smiled at Tony curled up against him. No need to get moving quite yet. Another few minutes, a half-hour, maybe an hour.

Over eggs and bacon for breakfast in the dining room, Steve read to Tony from the Overland Monthly. Tony nodded at the right places while he scribbled notes about yet another invention. They decided to open presents before lunch.

Steve went about his chores. The horses didn’t know it was Christmas, even if Steve had sugar cubes and crisp apples for them. He filled the feed racks, bolted the stable door against the wind, brought in a load and a half of wood, and watched the sleet turn to snow from the back door. 

The world was all hushed and quiet under the falling snow, all greys and light browns. And Steve tasted a few swirling flakes on his tongue and his heart filled with love and peace, a rare feeling since he was a child.

Tony was already sitting in his chair, examining a sheaf of papers, with a few presents in brown paper wrappers on a nearby chest. Steve kissed the top of his head. “I’ll get changed and be back.”

“Hmmm,” Tony replied, leaning towards Steve.

Sheriff Rogers was a practical, unromantic man. He’d worked hard since he was five years old, stitching buttons and stirring laundry for his mother. He’d survived the blood-stained fields of Gettysburg, muddy trenches of Petersburg, and the rutted roads to Appomattox. He’d almost died from an assassin’s bullet, but he’d beaten back Mayor Fisk’s assault on the town with his friends. Even testified in Carson City against the remains of the gang.

Men like him bought irons and carpet beaters and washtubs for their loved ones. 

So he knew in his bones that his plans were foolhardy and risky. He suspected that Tony was already thinking that Steve had bought him more tools for the smithy. Maybe even a new horse blanket if Steve was adventurous. Tony was going to be surprised. Maybe in a good way, but maybe not.

Steve brought one of his presents, leaving the other ones back in the library. He took down the socks from the mantle, which had been mysteriously filled in the night, and handed Tony’s sock over to him.

He worried his bottom lip as he watched Tony unwrap the oranges from his sock. “Thanks, Steve,” Tony replied.

Tony also opened a new box of pencils suitable for drafting and some new socks. Steve had oranges in his sock as well, not wrapped, and new handkerchiefs. Steve unwrapped a couple of books (Harte’s Luck of Roaring Camp and Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea) and handed Tony another present. Tony tugged the ribbon and brown box fell open to reveal the hammer.

“Wonderful,” Tony said, with a tinge of disappointment in his voice. He lifted and swung it a couple of times. “Best hammer in Pym’s shop -- thanks, Steve, I’ve been looking at this for awhile.”

Tony handed Steve a small unwrapped box. Steve arched his eyebrow as he opened the box from a Carson City jeweler and discovered a man’s gold pocket watch. It was a substantial watch, Steve could tell from the weight in his hand and clear face and elegant hands. “Tony,” Steve gasped. Tony had had Steve’s name engraved on the back.

“You’re worth it,” Tony gushed. “You have to keep it since it has your name. I wanted to get you something for our first Christmas together --”

Steve got up and kissed Tony. “It’s perfect.” Tony beamed up at him. “Wait -- I have something more.” He retrieved his last present from the bedroom.

“Steve?” Tony asked as Steve pressed the small envelope into Tony’s hands.

“Just open it.”

“I really hope you didn’t get me a large credit at Pym’s Hardware,” Tony confessed. 

That would have been a very good gift, Steve considered. But he could hear the chagrin in Tony’s voice. He’d spent so much time on finding the perfect gift for Steve, and was getting a hammer, oranges, pencils and socks in return. 

“Open it,” Steve urged. He sat on the edge of his seat, waiting with bated breath for Tony.

“Steve -- these are tickets to San Francisco -- in a month,” Tony said in wonder. He flipped the train tickets back and forth.

“It’s a whole trip -- I’ve made reservations at a hotel in the city. It will be only be a week --”

“But Timely?”

“Sam can handle things when I’m not here. He can call in Red Wolf and Mrs. Barnes if he needs backup. You could use a trip somewhere nice.”

Tony stood up and hugged Steve like he was never letting Steve go. Ever. He peppered Steve’s face with kisses. “You have no idea what this means to me. A whole week in San Francisco!”

Steve smiled and held Tony, as Tony told him all that they were going to do in the city. He should try to do this more often if Tony was this happy.

After all, Steve had ever wanted to do was to make Tony happy and wipe away all the pain of the past.


End file.
